The Sound of Freedom
by Neemers
Summary: Manifestation, capture, slavery. Oh, joy.
1. Escape

This does start out as an OC story, but the Bayville mutants will be introduced into it soon enough. _______________________________________________________________________  
  
Master was coming. That meant pain, much pain. When he was little he'd cried out, but it didn't take long for him to realize that just made the pain worse. Scars from electrified cattle prods, whips, and more adorned his body. He had no name, and just barely had the will to live. Sometimes he wanted to just lie down and never get up again, but every time he was about to do it, the breeze would seem to call him. Some little scent from - from... somewhere else, somewhere outside the world of the pit and his cage, would call to him, and tell him that there was more to life than blood and pain and leering men who threw things at him.  
  
Master was coming. What was left within the slave, what little part of him remembered what life was before, was tempted to pull at the heavy metal collar, to try to remove it, but that just brought more pain. Using his paws like hands, showing any intelligence, any recognition, brought pain. Master's servant-boy cowered up to the cage, slipping his hand inside just long enough to attach the leash. Slave was tempted to fight, but he knew that if he so much as curled his lip at Sevant-boy, Master would touch the little square thing in his hand, the one that would send Slave to the ground in howling agony. So he stood still while Servant-boy attached the leash and opened the cage, letting himself be lead along placidly, so he wouldn't be zapped.  
  
Servant-boy led him to the pit, and he felt himself thrust inside. A part of him that remembered the before-times, a part that was growing ever smaller, hated what was going to happen next. Slave remembered that there was a reason this bit of him hated it, but he couldn't remember what it was, just as he couldn't remember what the before-times were. Moments after he was thrust into the pit, a door on the other side was opened and three great dogs were shoved inside. They came after him in a blood-lust.  
  
This was his only respite from the cage now. The chance to leap and run, to dance a dance of blood and pain. He felt his tail lash about his body as he waited for the dogs to come to him. After a few moments of blood and frenzied, half-remembered movements, it was over, and he could eat. Slave settled over his three kills, to try to fill his belly before Master herded him out of the pit, back to his cage.  
  
Once again, Master came into the cage, armed with whip, cattle-prod, and more exotic implements. The crowd surrounding the pit cheered as Master came at him, using his weapons to force Slave out of the pit and into his cage, whick Servant-boy had pushed up to one of the exits of the pit. Once again Master would force him back, back into the cage, back into the dark, but sometimes, sometimes Slave could avoid him for a little while, long enough to fill his belly on his kills. He would have leaped at Master, but if he did that, Master would touch the little box and pain from the collar would fell Slave.  
  
Once again, Slave tried to eat his fill while dodging the whip and prod. Once again, he didn't always make it away in time. Fresh whip-wounds were opened, as well as fresh burns from the prod. But this time, something different happened. Master made a bad lunge with the prod, and it zapped the latch on his collar. The collar flew off, and Slave was free to flee.  
  
In an instant, he leaped to the side of the pit and started using his claws to dig in, to climb. Guns from Master and from the crowd were drawn, but he never slowed down. He was almost there. Almost out. Somehow, he managed to dodge most of the fire and leap out of the pit and past the men. He pumped all four legs as fast as they would go. Then, he smelled it. The little breeze that had comforted him all this time. He followed it until he came to a door. Instead of slowing, Slave just sped up, faster and faster, twisting at the last moment so that his shoulder hit the door instead of his head. His shoulder hurt, but he didn't care. The door hadn't stood a chance. What that little breeze had hinted at was all around him. Instead of dust, fear, and blood, the world smelled of life. He leaped out and started running, far from his old life and into this new. He bounded over the green, into tall growing things, into a wet coldness, and more. It was many hours before Slave stopped and collapsed, stopping only because he could run no more.  
  
The part of him from the before-times, the before-fur-times, was remembering more. He needed a name. But what. He was free. He needed a freedom-name. He remembered back, to that moment with the cattle prod. As it had freed him, it had made a name. He would take the last sound of the prod, the sound of freedom, as his name. He was Zak.  
  
He had a name. He was alive again. The smell of prey was all around him. It was time for him to hunt, to kill, to live again.  
  
____________________________________________________________  
  
Opinions? 


	2. Remembering

Zak had finally filled his belly, at the expense of a few rabbits. He licked himself clean, and then settled down to think. To be able to think, to feel the wind through his fur, and know he could go where he wished seemed such a luxury. First of all, what was he?  
  
He idly rubbed at the darkness on his arm for a few moments before realizing how much of the dirt and blood from his previous life still clung to him. He slipped into a nearby wetness. It had a name, he remembered that it had a name. Ah, yes. River. He remembered that in the before-times, he had made the word-sound. Perhaps he could say it?  
  
"Ri-rrr."  
  
Well, that could have gone better. Maybe if he kept trying, tried other words. But first, to clean his fur. To be clan. He remembered being clean. To be so again...  
  
The tide pulled against him, and Zak ducked under the water to see more. He inspected the bottom of the riverbed for a few moments before noticing the webbing that had unfurled from between his fingers. He twisted around and inspected his toes to find that they too had webbing, though when he pushed on his toe webbing it wouldn't coil back in like the finger webbing. And why didn't he have water up his nose after a stunt like that, anyway? He felt his nose, to find that his nostrils had clamped shut, sealing out the water. He felt his ears next, to find that they had coiled down slightly, but not far enough to make even the slightest pretense at keeping the water out of his ears.  
  
Perhaps he could breath underwater? Zak considered the question for a few moments, before he felt the need for air reach his as he lunged for the surface, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need for fresh air within him. Ah, to breath clean air, free of the stench that always hovered about his cage and the pit. Zak realized that his playing in the water had washed the dirt from him and hauled himself up on the bank for a closer inspection.  
  
He already knew of his tail, claws, and fangs. He'd used them all in the pit to his own advantage. Even so, he spent a few moments idly sheathing and unsheathing his claws, watching as they slid out to gleam in the sunlight. The sun did feel good, but his claws itched. Idly, he raked them against the bark of a nearby tree. Mmmm, that felt good. All thoughts flew out of his head as he attended to his claws, sharpening them against the bark of the tree.  
  
Ten minutes and one mutilated tree later, Zak was back to considering his own changes. He realized that not all of the darkness on his arm had been dirt. All of the fur on his hands and nost of his fore-arm was a dark chocolaty brown, which paled to a cream as it rode up his shoulder. Looking down, he noticed the same coloring on his legs. His tail was the same brown, and through some extreme twisting Zak guessed that the dark streak continued all the way up his backbone. Longish hair of the same color was on the top of his head and framed his face, as it had in the before-times. Zak peered into the river to see that most of his face was creamy, but there was a darker splotch across his nose and eyes. As far as Zak could tell, the rest of him was the same creamy color.  
  
As time went on, Zak was remembering more and more of the before times. He remembered that going out in public naked was bad because everyone could see your private bits, but he thought it was ok now. During his mutation a slit had developed so he could hide his private bits within the rest of his body.(1) Maybe that meant it was ok now. But still, he did not intend to let himself be seen.  
  
Zak remembered his previous attempt with words, and ecided to try again. Maybe this thime he could get something right. What could he say?  
  
Zak.  
  
"Zak."  
  
Well, that was one right? What else?  
  
"Riff-er"  
  
Well, he was getting closer to saying river. Maybe tree?  
  
"Fffrree."  
  
Well, maybe he couldn't say tree yet, but he could say something better. What else? Rock?  
  
"Rak"  
  
Green?  
  
"hhhrreen."  
  
Water?  
  
"aker."  
  
This was going to take some work.  
  
Bit by bit Zak was remembering more of his previous life. He remebered having five toes insted of four. He remembered being overjoyed when he started growing facial hair at the age of twelve, until he realized it wasn't an early beard. He remebered hiding his fur, using dad's razor to shave it. He remembered the pinpricks of pain as his claws started forming, remembered always wearing gloves to hide his hands after his fingernails fell out. He remembered freaking out as he had to hide a bulge in his undies he'd never expected when his tail started growing in.  
  
He remembered. And he remembered when his father had found out. How father'd beaten him, and dragged him away from a normal life. How he'd learned to call father his master.  
  
_________________________________________________________  
  
(1) Do some research on whales. You'll figure it out.  
  
How much I write tends to be directly proportional to how many reviews I get, so please write. 


	3. Preparation

Zak had been out in the wild for nearly a month. In that time he'd refined his hunting skills enough to take on a deer, learned that porcupines really do taste like chicken, and remembered the last of his past. He remembered that he had once been a child named Luke who had lived in an average home in an average neighborhood with a loving father, who just happened to be a part of the FoH, looking after him. But Luke was a part of him that was dead now. There was no going back, only forward.  
  
In all the time he'd spent free he'd spent time honing his skills, learning to walk upright again, though he was surprised that walking on his toes alone was more comfortable most of the time. When he was carrying anything heavy, though, putting the whole of his feet on the ground gave him more support. He'd learned to speak and found that most of his problems came from not using his voice for so long, not because his mutation had changed his voice.  
  
He'd used a stick to scratch words in the mud by the riverbank, little by little remembering more and more of what he had known. He remembered that he'd once been a straight-A student, and been called a protege by many of his teachers. The problem was, the more he remembered, the more he wanted to rejoin the human race. Finally, he decided that he would try to start working on a plan to rejoin humanity, that he would find a way.  
  
Little by little, the plan had come to him. When he had been Luke, the family next door had been home to a Goth boy. Perhaps he couldn't look exactly normal, but his fur was fine enough to be matted down and made unnoticeable by a thick layer of make-up. Before Mommy had died, she'd had tons of hair products that changed her look every day. Surely he could find something to make his hair settle down from the extremely fine, soft, felinish aura it had insisted on turning itself into. Gloves to cover his claws. Long sleeves. He'd experimented with his tail and found it flexible to coil about his waist, to be hidden by pants. Boots to cover his oddly- shaped feet. He could do this.  
  
Now, he was ready to move out. He'd spent nearly a week watching the houses out in the woods far enough for him to sneak in and out unnoticed. His only way to get what he needed was to steal it, but he didn't want the thefts to be noticed, so he was careful. In one house, a teenage boy would find two pairs of pants, and old blanket, and three t-shirts missing, if he ever cleaned out the bottom of his closet, where Zak had found the clothing. In the next house over, a Goth girl's mother had been threatening to throw out her daughter's make-up several times when Zak had been listening; tomorrow, the girl would think her mother had made good on the threat. The next house lost a ratty jacket and worn pair of boots hidden away in the attic. The next one lost a few bottles of hair supplies and a hand-held mirror, so Zak could see what he was doing with the make-up. The final house lost a pair of garden gloves, carelessly thrown into a corner and forgotten.  
  
Zak bundled everything up and headed back to his home base, a cave he'd dug out in a valley near the river. The entrance was well hidden behind a bush and within the crotch of an oak's giant roots. Now he just had to wait for daylight so he could see what he was doing properly.  
  
The next morning, Zak wanted to get started on his work first thing, but his stomach and bladder were making other demands known. After taking care of other concerns ( the rabbit population was in rapid decline), Zak went back to look through his haul. The first thing Zak did was haul out the mirror, to see just what he'd have to cover up. The moment the mirror was up, it nearly dropped from slack fingers. He had cat eyes, with the slitted pupil. He didn't have anything to cover that, and with all his other peculiarities and the current mutant craze, sunglasses wouldn't let him pass.  
  
Zak settled down to think for a long time, finally deciding to root through the rest of his haul. If he got sunglasses he would be able to pass on exceptionally bright days and have the chance to walk down the street, if nothing else. He started rooting through the make-up, and was astounded with what he found. A contact case and the lens cleaner. Father had needed them to be able to see. He'd have to find a way to return them. He didn't know why, but Zak decided to open the case, to take a look at the contacts, though he knew that would tell him nothing. Once he did, Zak was astounded. These weren't vision-correcting contacts. These were color-changing contacts, that newer kind that was designed to change dark eyes to lighter colors. Mom had used them before. If they had covered Mom's nearly-black irises, they should cover Zak's cat-eyes.  
  
After half an hour of trying to get the contacts in (and noticing for the first time just how badly fur-covered hands clashed with getting contacts in) Zak realized that he needed more practice. And a pair of rubber gloves. One of the garden sheds in the surrounding area was sure to have a few pairs. For now, Zak contented himself with trying everything else. The hair gels tended to make his hair look somewhat greasy, but they did make his hair look like something that belonged to a normal human.  
  
Experiments with the Goth girls make-up taught him three things: the make- up trick would work, it was possible to rein in the gag reflex the make- up's smell gave him, and he would need more foundation, soon. It was amazing how much it took to smooth his fur down.  
  
Once he was done with his face and neck, he realized that he should have put on a T-shirt first. No matter. He could put on the jacket for now, and zip it up all the way. Next came the pants and the boots. He could pass. Zak took one last glance in the mirror and noticed his pointed ears sticking out from under his hair. He remembered how they had coiled down when he was underwater, and concentrated on making them do that again. It took a moment for him to get it right, and they still looked a little odd, but he could pass.  
  
Zak smiled broadly into the mirror, then grimaced. Well, Father had always said that Goths tended to be depressed, and Zak would just have to play off that image. The first time anyone got a good look at his teeth, his cover would be shot. Now all he'd have to do was learn to get the contacts in and learn to talk without raising his lips far enough for anyone to get a good look at his teeth. He could practice out here. He could learn how to walk in the boots, how to move with the stiffness of an ordinary human, how to talk without showing his teeth, and above all, to never, ever smile while in the costume.  
  
But that was something for another day. For now, Zak shed his clothes, stuffed everything back in his den, and leaped out into the river, both to go fishing and to wash off the make-up.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
  
Please review. 


	4. Registration, sorta

It had been nearly two months. Zak had been practicing with the contacts at least once a day and could now get them in on the first try, most of the time. Further raids on the surrounding area had provided him with a comb, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, candles, and matches. As long as he was careful, he doubted he'd ever be caught. After all, little items went missing every day, and he could think of no other way to get what he needed.  
  
Tonight was midnight recon. A combination of claws that could dig into most surfaces and spring-loaded hind legs meant that he could travel the city a few stories up where there was little chance anyone would see him, and even if he was seen, there was even less chance that anyone could catch him. No norm on foot would have the slightest chance at matching his pace, and motor vehicles couldn't take to the rooftops.  
  
He was getting bolder, tonight. Zak realized that he would need money soon and was on the outside of an apartment, ready to lift what he needed. The hot night meant open windows on every room above the second story. That meant that Zak could slip in and sneak what he needed. The next morning, people would be lighter by a few dollars. Zak was careful not to take any bill larger than a ten. That way, the missing cash could be shrugged off as a forgotten purchase.  
  
Once he was done with his midnight raid (and had lifted an ancient fanny- pack out of the back of someone's closet to carry his ill-gotten gain) He started inspecting the rest of the city. This wasn't the city he had grown up in, and it took him awhile to find the name. Bayville. It sounded like the kind of nice, sleepy place where mutant-hunters, or for that matter, anyone who knew what a mutant was, would be few and far between. He could make a new life for himself here.  
  
After scouting out the positions of various hiding places and bolt-holes, just in case, Zak came across the local school. He realized that having some kind of paper tail would make blending in easier, but how was he going to create it? After entering through a third story window in an attempt to avoid any cameras, he searched the building until he found the school office. The door was locked, but when the office was on the third story, he doubted there's be any locks on the window. carefully, he marked where the proper window would be, slipped back outside and used his claws to dig into the side of the building far enough to spider around to the window. After a few moments of jimmying the screen and the window itself, he was in.  
  
Once inside, Zak scouted around the office for some way to join the student body. The morning's mail lay unopened on the secretaries desk, and after a moment's consideration, Zak popped a claw to open the letters. Maybe he'd find something he could use.  
  
Bill.  
  
Bill.  
  
Note of resignation.  
  
Bill.  
  
Love letter?  
  
Note of transfer.  
  
Note of failed transfer. Well, that looked promising. Zak opened the letter to read that the student Jeremiah Zachary Johnson would be unable to transfer to Bayville from his hometown in New York City because he'd been hit by a taxi. Zak had never in his wildest dreams believed that bad driving skills could ever help him, but here was a possibility. He was just glad that father had brought enough of his paper-pushing work home for Zak to have a crude idea of what he needed to do.  
  
Zak sniffed around the office, searching for a hiding place for the keys to the cabinets or desks. Some unusual placed smelled too strongly of human hands for it to be an accident, so Zak carefully worried at each one until he found what lay within.  
  
Vodka.  
  
More love letters.  
  
Gin.  
  
Nail polish.  
  
Ah, here they were. Keys. And if the other stashes he'd found were any indication, any mistakes he made could easily be attributed to the secretary.  
  
Zak searched through half the file cabinets before he finally discovered just where Jeremiah's file had been placed, or rather, misplaced. He carefully removed it and read through it. It seems this Jeremiah was a model student, blond, and way too tall for Zak to fit the bill. No big deal. Zak continued searching through the files until he found blank transfer forms. He carefully copied all the important things, such as name and social security number, over to the new form. He replaced things like contact numbers with random numbers that could be mistaken as typos, and filled in most of the physical information chart with his own measurements. He'd go down to the nurse's office in a moment to find his weight and height.  
  
After another hour of searching though the files and making sure everything was done as well as he could make it, Zak slipped back out of the school, replacing everything in its proper place on his way out. He'd be starting at Bayville High in another two weeks, and he'd even found the forms needed to issue him new books. Now all he needed was a backpack, paper, and pencils. This time, he'd try nicking them out of a new area. No reason to give anyone the slightest reason to be suspicious.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________ ______  
  
Opinions? 


	5. First Day

Today was the big day. The day he started school. The day he could live among his fellow humans again, without having cigarette butts thrown at him. He slunk up to the main door of the school with a little more grace than normal among flatscans, but he didn't notice. What he did notice was the so-called welcoming comittee. No matter what age or what place, it seemed there were always a few males intent on showing themselves to be rulers of the roost.  
  
One of them called out to him, "Yo, freakazoid, where'd you come from, the ladies' room?" Behind him, his cohorts laughed as if this was the funniest joke on earth. After giving the boy a long, measured look, Zak responded.  
  
"New York, actually. I just transferred in."  
  
"What's with the funny accent? You a spy or somethin'?"  
  
Ah, yes. Apparently there was one difference between these and the bullies he'd known as Luke. Apparently, as bullies got bigger, they also got stupider. Must have all their brain-power sucked away to power their showy muscles. Joy.  
  
The jock started coming closer, and Zak came up with the perfect response. He gave the jock the same long, blank stare that he'd given any hadler who dared come too close to his cage in previous years, the one that had been known to make a few of them nearly wet their pants. The jock wavered for a moment, just long enough for Zak to slip by and get to the office to pick up his schedule.  
  
"Yeah, you better run!" the jock called after him, in an attempt to pick up the broken shards of his dignity.  
  
Zack continued on to the office. He knew who the secretary he should talk to was immediately because hers was the only scent that covered the entire office, but he still asked her who he should go to. Best not to appear as if he knew too much. Father had taught him all to well what being different could bring about. She told him that she'd be with him in a moment, and he struggled not to wrinkle his nose at her breath. Apparently she'd already gotten into her vodka.  
  
In a few minutes he had his locker number, combination, and instructions on where to go to get his books. He'd have to hurry to get everything before school started. He asked directions from those around him, but took care not to seem friendly. That would just lead to trouble, until he knew what the score was around here. After many vague pointings and muttered directions, Zak realized that this wasn't helping. He started looking at the surrounding room numbers and searched out where he was supposed to go himself. He was only about ten minutes late when he finally found the book room, and only about half an hour late when he finally made it to his first class.  
  
Once at the classroom door, Zak paused for a moment. He had to play this properly. Zak silently slid the door open and stalked to the back of the classroom with all the grace of a hunting panther. He managed to slide into his seat before the teacher even registered his presence.  
  
The teacher informed the class, "It seems we have a new student among us."  
  
No duh, Zak thought to himself. And just how did you figure that one out, Einstein?  
  
"Perhaps you would like to tell us something about yourself..." the teacher paused to flip through his papers... "Jeremiah?"  
  
"Name's Zak. I'm here. Deal." With that, Zak slid a bit further into his seat, flipped out his book and stared resolutley at it, intent on shutting everything else out. Instead of picking at him and trying to get more information as he'd expected, the teacher dove right into the course material.  
  
Zak's head was spinning in instants. He'd entered himself in all the remedial courses, but that still didn't make up for sitting in a cage instead of a desk for the past four years. He merely did his best to figure out what the teacher was saying and resolved to spend as much out-of-school time studying as he could.  
  
After listening to the teacher for long enough to figure out what he should study, Zak started dividing his attention between the teacher and the rest of the class. This was the only class he had where a remedial course hadn't been open, so he'd been forced to put himself in with the mainstream croud.  
  
There was a perky redhead near the front who seemed to be paying perfect attention to what the teacher was saying, but her responses were just a little off. She was one of the few students who's managed to perfect the technique of looking like she was paying perect attention while dozing off. A moment later she seemed to return and he felt her start listening in his direction. He directed most of his attention elsewhere, and she left him alone in a few minutes.  
  
One row over and two seats behind, there was a kid in sunglasses who was staring at the redhead without being obvious about it, at least to those with normal senses. Zac would have suspected his observations were wrone if he couldn't smell that particular mix of hormones coming off the boy. A moment later a blond leaned over to whisper something to the redhead, and he felt Sunglasses' anger flare. The blond turned around for a moment, and the two boy's eyes locked. This Zak understood perfectly. Two alpha males fighting over the same mate, while the female led them on.  
  
Next, he watched the blond. This one was a pack leader through strength. It fancied itself a pradator, and a cunning one at that, but it was nothing but an overgrown cub. The other would be the one to take the female.  
  
Closer to the back, there was a Goth female in a gauzy green shirt. This one he took a little more care with in his observation. Something about her screamed 'hunter' to him, and he did not want to be observed. After a few minutes watching her, he realized that she knew how to guard her body language so well that he'd get nothing more from her, for the moment.  
  
His musings were interupted by the teacher. "Jeremiah, would you please answer the question?" Zak studiously ignored him. She walked up to his desk and repeated the question. This time, he'd collected his wits enough to respond.  
  
"My name isn't Jeremiah, it's Zak," he calmly told the teacher. "I believed you were adressing somebody else."  
  
"This isn't the place to show off to your friends," the teacher said, as his hand twitched for the detention slip.  
  
"I don't show off. I speak what I know as the truth," Zak stated.  
  
"Then perhaps you would like to tell us the answer to the question?" This time, the teacher smiled, convinced he had succeeded in flustering the new slacker.  
  
"I don't know the answer."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" the teacher asked, trying very hard to resist the urge to bang Zak's head against the desk.  
  
"You didn't ask." Zak deadpanned.  
  
Duncan called out from the front, "Hey, Zombie-boy. You know the answer to this question?" he said as he held up his fists.  
  
Zak seemed to consider for a moment, then stated, "You in a dumpster."  
  
Zak calmly stepped out of his seat and out of the room. He still had that little trip to the principal's office to take care of. On his way past Duncan's seat, Duncan stuck his leg out in an attempt to trip him. There was only one possible answer to this.  
  
Zak stepped higher and brought his foot down harder than stricly necessary right on Duncan's outstretched shin. Duncan yelped and drew his leg back under his desk as Zak continued on his way, carefully 'not noticing.' He didn't allow himself even the hint of a smile until he was in the hallway. Maybe now Duncan would learn to never try to trip anyone wearing steel-toed hiking boots.  
  
____________________________________________________________  
  
Review? Please? Anyone? Anyone still out there? 


End file.
